


can't buy me love

by missdulcerosea



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Drunken Confessions, F/F, Fluff, sorta? crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdulcerosea/pseuds/missdulcerosea
Summary: Sayaka drives out to pick up a drunk Madoka, but she ends up with a little more than she bargained for - not that she minds...
Relationships: Kaname Madoka/Miki Sayaka
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	can't buy me love

Sayaka wakes up—bleary, clumsily scratching at the sleeping grit caught in her eyes—to the sound of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony blaring from her phone. Moments prior she’d tossed and turned in tandem to the urgent texting that made her phone vibrate at her bedside, now when sunlight still does not light up her room through the uncovered windows she recieves a phone call. Sighing, she swings her legs over the bed and picks up, the orchestra ceasing to play.

“Hello?” Her voice comes out thick and scratchy.

“It’s Mami.” Mami’s voice is demure but crackly through the static, but something else is there too. “Sorry for waking you up so early—“

  
“Don’t apologize,” Sayaka grumbles. She scratches at her cyan blue hair—once she’d left for college she’d decided she didn’t like it hanging so long at the nape of her neck and snip, snip snip, got it fashioned into a pixie cut. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Madoka. We went to the bar and even though she said she’s a lightweight she’d drink with us anyway and now she’s drunk.”

“Madoka Kaname? Drunk?”

There is something between her and Madoka that has lingered for the years they have known one another, discernible but not tangible. It is in the little glances they give each other, secret codes that not even they know the words to. It is in the way Sayaka instinctively snatches up Madoka’s hand on the subway the moment the train begins to whir to life. It is in the way they lean on one another, reaching out for something tantalizing that they want but haven’t quite recieved yet. And now the girl Sayaka has known since kindergarten—sweet innocent Madoka Kaname, who’d never say a curse word or do anyone or anything harm in her life—is blackout drunk.

“You’re the only one of us who can drive her back to the dorms—I live close enough to walk, Homura doesn’t have her license or her permit, and Kyoko should not be let anywhere near a car. Please?” Her words come strained through the phone.

“Alright,” Sayaka says, tossing off the covers with a rustle. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

“COME ON BABYYYY, LET’S RIIIIDE. WE CAN ESCAAAAPE TO THE GREAT SUNSHIIIINE. I KNOW YOUR WIIIIIFE—”

In the almost deserted bar a young girl teeters on top of one of the tables. Her glasses hang askew from her ears, large intoxicated grin stuck to her face. Her movements are clumsy, jerky, and every time she stumbles too close to the edge of the table the dark haired girl seated at the bar cringes, her redheaded friend buries her head in her hands, and the blonde-haired young woman with them pleads for her to get off the table.

“Alright, I’m here.” Sayaka marches through the door of the bar, the sickly sweet aroma of alcohol ever pungent in the air. Empty chairs are propped up at empty tables, fully-drained glasses once full of beer scattered across the room. Madoka’s singing comes out slurred and twisty, words dangling where they shouldn’t when she sings. But even so, her voice is still light and chirpy and darn it—this is where Sayaka presses her lips together tightly—how can she still sound so honey-sweet when she’s blackout drunk.

“Sayaka’s here! She’s coming to drive you back!” Mami calls out.

“Whooooo?” Madoka babbles. She leans dangerously low to peer at Sayaka. “I dunno you but you’re preeeetty. You have nice blue hair. Like cotton candy. I wonder if it’s nice and fluffy like cotton candy.”

A small hand combs through Sayaka’s hair. “Whoa, it’s nicer than cotton candy! I’m pretty sure your hair doesn’t taste very good, but it’s so nice and fluffyyyy.”

“Well, I’m glad you like my pretty hair, but you have to go home.” Sighing, she reaches up and wraps her arms around Madoka to carry her off.

“Put me down, ma’am! I gotta stay on top of the table so I can see my kingdom! I’m princess of Pepperland, I gotta—”

Her sentence is cut short by a loud belch. At the bar, Kyoko laughs whispery, wheezing giggles, mumbling, “Oh my God, she really is a lightweight.”

“Thank you so much, Sayaka. We all really appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Mami.”

She cradles Madoka close, making her way through the almost empty Pepperland with its solitary occupants, and into her car, where she tucks the seatbelt over her princess and takes up the front seat as chauffeur.

“Where’re we goiiiiing?”

“Home. Back to our dorms. It’s three in the morning on a Friday and you’re wasted.”

“Wasted?” Madoka pouts in the rearview mirror and something swells up in Sayaka’s chest. “I don’t wanna be wasteful. I don’t wanna waste time.”

  
“Wasted as in you’re drunk.”

  
“I’m not drunk! If I was drunk could I do this?”

She clenches, pressing down on the accelerator. The car hums to life and Sayaka clenches down on the steering wheel. She knows what comes next.

“THE MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR IS READY TO TAKE YOU AWAY! READY TO TAKE YOU AWAAAAAAY—”

It is going to be a long, long ride home.

* * *

Madoka lies bespectacled and face flushed as pink as her hair. She flops and thrashes about on the small, plush bed in her dorm. Gone are the babydoll dress and cardigan from earlier, replaced with a nightgown she’s described as “duckling yellow” in color. Still, she has her high heels on and Sayaka has to dodge from getting kicked in the chin trying to pry them off.

“Madoka, hold still—”

“I am a lady, Sayaka, and a lady does not take her heels off!” Madoka pouts, rose pink hair rustling soft on the pillowcase.

“Your feet—are gonna—hurt—in the morning—when—” Off pops one high heel that crashes to the floor “—You’re—hungover—too!” And then off comes the other.

Sighing, Madoka finally ceases her thrashing and buries her head on the pillow. The room is faintly lit with the warm, golden glow of a single lamp in the corner. Then she loosens her grip on the pillow and pulls Sayaka close. She smells like beer but even with the stench of alcohol is her vanilla-scented shampoo and the perfume of fresh-baked cookies from an afternoon spent at Mami’s house. The sweetness wraps over Sayaka like a blanket, draping her in warmth and memories of sugar.

Then she remembers she has to change out of her clothes and back into her pajamas.

“Where are you going?” Madoka murmurs, plaintive voice thick with sleep.

“Just to put my pajamas on.”  
“You’re gonna come back, right?”

“Of course. Why do you ask.”

“Because I love you, Sayaka.”

Halfway to the dresser, Sayaka stops in her tracks. Even if the words might be because of the beer she’s drank, they’re words she’s been hoping to hear for a long time. They hang in the air and Sayaka clings to them as she rummages through her drawer, wondering if there’s perhaps something more—

A loud snore shatters the once silent dorm room. Sayaka sighs pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, crawling back into her own bed and pondering.

“Good night, Madoka.”

* * *

The next morning drags on, hazy and a moment hanging in suspension as time flows on outside. Madoka sits up in bed bleary-eyed and hair coated with frizz, squinting and gulping down a mouthful of water with advil.

“We’ve still got pancake mix if you want any.”

“Oof, no. My head hurts too much for that. Why’d I think drinking that much last night was a good idea—it feels like my head’s gonna split open.”

“Oh, last night sure was something,” Sayaka grins into her coffee, smudging the faint lip gloss she wears on the rim.

“Say what?”

“You’d gotten black out drunk. For realz. You were just dancing on the tables and belting out Lana Del Rey—I hadn’t gotten there soon enough for you to blurt out the especially raunchy bits, but you were singing Cola. Then you thought you were a princess for some reason. You burped a lot too. And then you started singing the Beatles when we got in the car, and…”

Even though her head probably aches, Sayaka watches Madoka propped up by the pillows laugh till she clutches her stomach and her head presses against her knees, shoulders shaking with high-pitched giggles.

“Then you said you loved me, but—”

“I said what?” The laughter evaporates. Madoka sits straight up.

“You said you loved me. I was kinda worried ‘cause you were drunk and you might not’ve been serious, but I mean, I really love y—Oh God, I don’t even have to get drunk to mess up, did I just say that out loud?” Sayaka buries her head in her arms, coffee forgotten to grow cold.

“I don’t know where you got the idea where I must’ve been drunk when I say those sorts of things. Sayaka Miki, if I say ‘I love you’ to you and you alone, I mean it.”

“You do?”

“Of course.” Madoka’s lips curve upwards into a smile.

“And,” she adds, “I’m happy to see that you feel the same way.”

For a moment they sit in the sunshine and are able to reach out and grab hold of what they’ve been looking for. And they know that they’ll never let go.

Then Madoka doubles over. “Owchie, hangover still hurts—”

“Yeesh, that bad? I’m sorry. But you know what? We’ve got the whole day to ourselves to sleep it off, and I’ll get another painkiller for you.” She gets up from where she’s been leaning over towards Madoka and stumbles over to the medicine cabinet.

“Thank you,” Madoka mumbles through her headache. And for good measure, she repeats it with an addition. “Thank you, dear.”

  
Halfway to the medicine cabinet, Sayaka looks back.

“You’re welcome. Dear.”


End file.
